Mikhail Baryshnikov doesn’t dance, but it is a true delight just to watch the legend move through this rich universe while speaking Russian — his first language — and French. Photo: Stephanie Berger

Mikhail Baryshnikov may be the star of “In Paris,” but there’s no dancing here, just a bit of mimed bullfighting — choreographed by American Ballet Theatre’s Alexei Ratmansky — as striking as it is brief.

But then, this play doesn’t have much of a plot, either: It’s based on a short story that runs a mere eight pages.

What the 80-minute show does have is a rich visual universe, courtesy of Moscow director Dmitry Krymov, who’s also a painter and graphic artist.

Indeed, the best way to enjoy this Lincoln Center Festival offering is to sit back, let it wash over you, and happily mumble to yourself, “My God, I’m watching living legend Baryshnikov move.”

Set in 1930s Paris, Ivan Bunin’s story traces the hesitant courtship between two unnamed Russian exiles: a former general in the White Army (Baryshnikov) and a younger waitress (Anna Sinyakina).

The text is in French and Russian — the first time Baryshnikov has performed in his mother tongue — and is translated on titles that are projected in creative ways. First they scroll up, “Star Wars”-style, on gigantic letters on the stage and back wall. At one point, they’re projected on a comic book-like thought balloon, held near the general’s head by one of the supporting actors.

The black-and-white color palette, pantomime and gentle sight gags are clearly an homage to silent movies; in case we didn’t get the point, it’s driven home in a scene in which the cast watches an early Charlie Chaplin movie.

At times, things get too precious, as when a dog puppet “pees” on the floor or when we hear the famous “Habanera” aria from “Carmen.” It feels musty, an outdated idea of “avant-garde.”

But the show improves as its mood progressively darkens.

The couple rotate around the stage on a massive turntable, frozen behind the cut-out image of a car representing a cab — it’s inventive and sad at the same time, suggesting a world of shallow surfaces.

By then, fear and possibly violence bubble up under the whimsy; flashes of red appear in the previously monochromatic world.

And then we’re back to “Carmen,” for Baryshnikov’s magnetic bullfight. What’s its connection with Bunin’s story? No idea, but it looks great. Sometimes, that’s all that matters.